


Communication through Curse

by transtwinyards



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Excessive Swearing, Gaelic Language, Gen, Set during the Dream Thieves, spoiler-free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5795266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transtwinyards/pseuds/transtwinyards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Lastly, Gansey seemed entirely happy about this development.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Ronan, for the most part, wasn’t bothered, but he wasn’t thrilled either. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Or, the one where Blue Sargent visits Monmouth and Ronan curses her in Gaeilge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Communication through Curse

Ronan had not been bothered by Adam’s regular visitation to Monmouth, so he was decidedly not bothered by Blue’s now even more regular visitation to Monmouth. For one, Noah seemed happier by this development, saying something about her being welcome to stay for as long she desired. For another, it made Monmouth shine brighter, as if her presence was amplifying the feel around the place. It was more _alive_ than it was before.

Lastly, Gansey seemed entirely happy about this development.

Ronan, for the most part, wasn’t bothered, but he wasn’t thrilled either. She brought in knick knacks from her room that Gansey practically showboated around Aglionby company: a bundle of five identical bracelets meant for all of them to wear, a knitted cowl that was as black as Ronan originally thought his soul was, and a few cans of biscuits full of sewing supplies.

These were _minor_ inconveniences, Noah reminded him often, and they were always minor inconveniences to only Ronan. Ronan snarled at his omniscience.

On a Sunday afternoon like this, after a talk with Declan and a little run-in with the cops before getting home from church, Ronan’s mood was as black as the cowl that Blue had given the Monmouth tenants. And apparently, after a run-in on particularly nosey older cousins, Blue’s mood was too.

It was a car crash happening before Gansey’s eyes, and Ronan was more than obliged to cause it.

“Couldn’t you have a little more tact with driving?” Blue questioned him from Gansey’s bed, her bare feet somehow antagonizing Ronan’s patience though his back was turned to it as he stuck another ticket to his doorway. She could not belong in this habitat even if she wore Gansey’s clothes and bathed in Gansey’s things, but her strangeness belonged, oddly enough, among Gansey’s knick knacks mixed with her own.

This angered Ronan for reasons he could not let himself think about.

“ _Couldn’t you have a little more tact with driving_ ,” Ronan mimicked in that high-pitched Henrietta accent he did when he teased Adam about it. He knew it angered Blue just as much. “I’d be surprised if your mangy little feet could reach the pedals, _a sclíteach_.”

“Ronan,” Gansey warned, his eyes hard but trying not to be.

“What was that?” Blue taunted. “If you want to insult me, use your vocabulary, flunk-wannabe.”

“Jane,” Gansey warned, his voice hard but trying not to be.

Ronan took a moment to try and be sheepish for fighting Blue, but failed. His mood was not improving. The Gaeilge was not helping improve his anger-fueled melancholy, not as much as it did once. “ _Téigh dtí Diabhail_.”

“ _Ronan_ ,” Gansey warned, and it was the last one Ronan could get away with, because now both his voice and eyes were hard and his shoulders were tired. And then Ronan felt that tiredness seep into his shoulders.

With one last glare at Blue and a seething “ _Gabh trasna ort théin,_ ” Ronan left them in the living room.

Chainsaw was perched by the window, but flew off as soon as Ronan threw his church clothes off. Silently, he appreciated the solitude. Silently, he resented the isolation.

Somewhere in his heart, a string pulled painfully. Somewhere in his brain, a memory flashed:

The living room at the Barns, warm and orange in the glow of summer and joy. Happiness and home filled the halls, with Matthew running around in his underwear; with Declan padding in and out of their shared room with cups of coffee with varying amounts of caffeine and milk as he plunked down on his laptop; Aurora sitting Ronan down in the kitchen, teaching him things in Gaeilge; with Niall, swooping in at night to find Ronan awake, too scared to sleep and too awake to dream, going around Declan’s laptop, studying Gaeilge curses.

Something in his pulse sounded odd, but he could almost _feel_ the Barns, so close but so far from his grasp. _We have to fight it_ , Ronan told Declan when he gave up on Aurora’s case a few days after Niall Lynch’s death.

 _She’s nothing without him_ , Declan had told him, and now that Ronan had nothing but time, he couldn’t help but think that she was, once, everything without Niall: a mother, a friend, a teacher, a sister. Ronan couldn’t have asked for any less.

Declan was just bitter, the bitter first son who received nothing but seconds. Ronan allowed himself to feel pity and found a smidgen of it under his black mood. He held onto it and calmed.

He heard voices outside his room, heard Blue’s agitated voice as she was pacing now.

“I’m going to work,” her words pushed, muffled, through the doors. The acoustics of the warehouse did not escape Ronan’s mind, considering he used to practice his violin out in the living room for Noah to hear its sound from the outside of the room once. The experiment proved fruitful and entertaining.

“Tell _him_ that if he wants to have that discussion, he can start by talking to me in a way that lets me understand him through his own mouth.” There was a second when Ronan thought this was directed at him. A bitter thought in his head responded with “ _oh, how fitting. Your dreams and your friends don’t understand you, you pitiful little thing_ ,” but then his mind flashed back to the cut off conversation that Gansey and Blue were having when he entered the warehouse.

Adam Parrish had apparently been trying to communicate through Gansey again, another sin that Ronan couldn’t help but want to point out. Ronan had been told by Gansey himself one too many times that he couldn’t use Gansey as a verbal shield forever, but now look at Adam. Adam who’d stolen the Camaro to sacrifice himself without telling them was still a saint.

Ronan felt his fingers itch, and remembered the money he’d handed off to the nun before mass this morning. He grimaced and forbid himself to feel anything but contempt.

Blue’s footsteps were heavy as she trudged towards the exit, but then returned even heavier. She went to go get her boots, apparently. She stopped in front of Ronan’s room and banged her fist twice before saying, with perfect pronunciation, “ _Gabh suas ort théin_.” Then, for good measure, she added, “ _Cúl tóna_.”

And with that, she walked away.

Ronan got up from the bed, hearing the slam of the exit as he opened the door to his room.

In the living room, he found Gansey, looking flabbergasted and a bit flushed in the cheeks. Ronan couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at his face.

“How did she—?”

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Gansey, the internet _exists_.”

Without much else to add, Ronan slammed the door shut again, and flung himself at the bed. Somewhere deep inside him, there was a deep feeling of satisfaction.

 _Someone understood me_ , he thought to himself, and he allowed the euphoria to wrap itself around him.

**Author's Note:**

> For the most part, I tried to study Irish but I'm flunked on time, so I kind of got all this online. I welcome any and all corrections.
> 
> Translation:  
> gabh trasna ort théin (go fuck yourself sideways)  
> téigh dtí Diabhail (fuck off)  
> a sclíteach (you maggot)  
> cúl tóna (dickhead)  
> gabh suas ort théin (go suck yourself)


End file.
